


American Dream

by OldToadWoman



Category: Dexter (TV)
Genre: Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-05
Updated: 2011-11-05
Packaged: 2017-10-25 17:46:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/273052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldToadWoman/pseuds/OldToadWoman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To catch a serial killer in a country club community, Deb and Vince are sent undercover as a well-to-do couple. But first they stop by Dexter's old place to pick up a few things. (Written for LiveJournal "tropeathon" prompt: "Pretending to Be Married/Undercover As Lovers")</p>
            </blockquote>





	American Dream

**Author's Note:**

> The timeline is early Season 5. (This scene can be roughly shoehorned in around the "Beauty and the Beast" or "First Blood" episodes.) Includes big spoilers for the end of Season 4 and beginning of Season 5.
> 
> Written for Trope-a-thon's "Pretending to Be Married/Undercover As Lovers" prompt at LiveJournal: http://tropeathon.livejournal.com/650.html
> 
> warnings:  
> Dexter is thinking, therefore there will be passing references to gore and violence. Deb is talking, therefore there will be crude language. Vince is breathing, therefore there will be sleaze.

_I can seem to remember a time when it all went like clockwork. Perfect murder after perfect murder. No one ever suspected. There were no close calls. No victims who almost got away. No innocents in the wrong place. No mistakes. Those days are so long ago now. Now it seems everything is a never-ending cascade of screw-ups, bad luck, and absurdly comedic timing._

_I didn't leave this door unlocked._ Dexter shifted Harrison on his hip and debated taking the baby back out to the car, but that seemed even riskier than going inside. _Maybe Astor and Cody's grandparents came by to pick up something else that I forgot to pack. Or the real estate agent had been through._ He put his hand to the small knife tucked in his pocket just in case and used his foot to push open the door to the house he'd shared with Rita.

Dexter always strived to be prepared for anything. It helped that he was not naturally prone to shock or surprise. Yet nothing could have prepared him for finding Masuka in his living room.

Dexter was momentarily frozen, eyes darting from side to side looking for some clue that would make sense of the scene before him. Masuka had found Dexter's golf clubs and was doing practice swings in the middle of the living room carpet.

"Hi," Dexter said finally.

Masuka looked up mid-swing. "Oh, hi, Morgan." He looked back down at the imaginary ball and followed through on the swing. "I didn't know you golf."

"I don't really," Dexter said. "I got the clubs at a yard sale. I thought I might take it up, but never got around to it. Why are you here?"

"Then it's okay if I borrow these?" Masuka asked. "Did you know you have a couple of clubs missing?"

 _Golf clubs are very effective murder weapons._ "That must be why I got the set so cheap." Dexter closed the front door and set the baby on the floor. "Why are you here?" he repeated.

Masuka pointed at the bedroom and then lined up for another imaginary swing.

"Don't play with the golf clubs in the house, please," Dexter said as he walked past Masuka to the bedroom.

And there was Deb with an armload of Rita's dresses. "Oh, hi, Dexter."

"Hi." Dexter glanced back to the living room where Masuka had put down the golf clubs, but was now poking around the bookshelves. "What are you doing?"

"I need to borrow some of Rita's things," Deb said carrying the clothes into the living room. She dumped them into a suitcase. "I mean, if that's okay with you?"

"And I suppose you need to borrow a suitcase as well?"

She smiled at him, the impish little grin she had used since childhood when she knew she was going to get away with something. "Well, kinda, yeah."

"Why are you taking Rita's clothes?"

"Masuka and I are going on an assignment. Country club detail."

"We are joining the big fish, my man," Masuka added. "Can we borrow some of your books too?"

"Don't you have books of your own?" Dexter asked.

"We need books that normal people have. And, well, _Rita_ was normal at least."

"I don't exactly have the wardrobe for life at the country club," Deb admitted. "I thought since Rita doesn't need her clothes anymore. Aw, fuck. Sorry, Dex. That didn't come out right."

"I think you're a little big for Rita's clothes," Dex said.

"Bullshit!"

Dexter glanced over at Masuka and shrugged. Masuka rolled his eyes. "Never tell a woman she's too big to fit into something. Not even if she's five hundred pounds. You just don't do it."

"Tall," Dexter said. "I meant too tall."

"They're dresses," Deb said. "Tall doesn't matter."

"At least try them on before you pack them. Why are you going undercover at a country club?"

"The swinging debutantes," Masuka said. "Remember them?"

 _Of course I remember. I killed the man who killed them._ "Vaguely. Those were suicides though, right? What's the mystery?"

"They found another one," Deb said. She grabbed two of the dresses and clomped back into the bedroom. "She was in a machinery room behind the club. No one goes back there much unless something breaks down. The machinery vents through there, you know, so _dry heat_ constant-like. She was _mummified_. They can't even narrow down time of death more than a range of months."

_I could narrow it down for you. It had to be just before I killed the tennis pro._

"And this one doesn't look like suicide either," Masuka said. "Not that the number of them wasn't already suspicious."

_That had definitely been the killer's mistake. One dead girl can be passed off as a suicide. Two, the tragic response of a friend to a sad death. Three, maybe a suicide pact. Four, and now you were dealing with girls who hadn't even been such close friends. Suicide pact just wasn't plausible. And this made five. Their killer was sloppy. And I was sloppy. I should have checked that machinery room._

"The fucking door was locked from the outside. The out- _fucking_ -side." Deb hollered from the bedroom. "She didn't commit suicide. The killer locked the body in."

_Actually, that was me. I put the padlock back when I dragged Smith out._

"Are you coming back to work soon, Morgan?" Masuka asked. "I got brain goo on me the other day. It was gross. I count on you to deal with the disgusting shit. And if I'm going to be in the field, we need another goo guy back in the lab anyway."

"You stepped in brain matter? You know better than that. What happened? Why are you going undercover anyway?"

"I didn't step in it. It fell on me." Masuka pointed at his neck and made a face.

"Like from the sky?"

"The ceiling."

"That shotgun guy," Deb said. "I told you about him, didn't I? The husband of the decapitation."

"The husband of the guy on the post?"

"Shit, no, Dex. The woman in the park. Before the guy on the post. The guy on the post was our lead on the woman in the park before he got machete-ed, too."

"This is why you need to come back to work," Masuka added. "We got way more shit than we can handle."

"Haven't solved the machete thing yet, huh?"

"Back burner. Apparently strangulations in a rich neighborhood trump decapitations in a poor neighborhood. And these uptown assholes are even more close-mouthed than the our regular shitheads, if you can believe it. Can't get a word out of them with a badge." Deb clomped back into the living room in a yellow sundress. She was still wearing her boots.

It was as Dexter had feared. What on Rita had been a tasteful above-the-knee sundress on Deb was a terrifyingly short mini.

"See, it fits," Deb said.

_For very loose interpretations of "fits"._

"Turn around," Masuka said.

Deb spun innocently. "How do I look?"

 _Like an underfed drag queen._ "Great. Were you planning to wear those boots with that?"

"I was hoping to borrow some of Rita's shoes, but—no offense, Dexter—your wife had tiny little midget feet."

Masuka chuckled. And kept chuckling. Dexter gave him a sideways glance and he stopped.

"I think I've got some sandals back at the apartment," Deb said. "Speaking of, you'll have the place to yourself for a couple of days. Masuka and I are staying on-site. Our official cover story is that we're a wealthy married couple from Connecticut."

"Old money," Masuka added with a smile.

"Do you really think you can pull that off?" Dexter asked.

"What, you think we're not fucking good enough to be from fucking old money?" Deb asked. "You know what, Dexter, you're a fuckhead." She turned and stomped back into the bedroom.

"Your kid is weird, Dexter," Masuka said

Dexter's head snapped around and he glared at Masuka.

"He's eating Barbie," Masuka said, nodding at the floor in the corner. "The _wrong way_."

Dexter looked over where his son sat on the carpet. Harrison clutched Barbie's detached head in one hand, her nude body in the other, while he chewed on her neck and shoulders. At least it was a slightly less disturbing visual than if he'd been eating Barbie the "right way." _Thank you, Vince Masuka, for that mental image._

"The child psychologist says that's completely normal. Children often appear violent when they're just exploring the parameters of their world. We're not supposed to read too much into it."

"Isn't Astor a little old for Barbie dolls?" Masuka asked.

"Shit! Dexter!" Deb ran back out of the bedroom, a green dress spilling still unfastened off her shoulders. "He's right! Teenage girls do not have Barbies unless they're collectibles. Get that doll away from him! Christ! Where's Mary Poppins today, anyway? You've had Harrison on your own for two days in a row now."

 _The nanny quit after a minor hostage situation kept me out all night._ "She'll be back tomorrow."

Dexter retrieved Barbie from Harrison's sticky grip. She seemed no worse for wear beyond a little saliva. Dexter popped her head back on. "See, good as new."

"Where's her dress, Dexter? If it's a collectible, the dress is worth as much as the doll."

Masuka got down on the floor to help look for the dress. Or possibly to look up Deb's dress. _Or both_. "Are we looking for Holiday Barbie or a Bob Mackey Barbie or what?"

"Don't be a dick, Masuka. If Barbie fits into it, it's the right one. Christ! And shoes. She's not wearing shoes!"

"Everyone calm down," Dexter said. "We are professionals. We find hair fibers at crime scenes. We can find a dress and a couple of doll shoes."

"Barbie shoes are like earrings or lost socks, Dexter. You never find both of them again."

Deb dropped to her knees, dress still unfastened and started looking under the couch. Masuka looked like he'd seen the face of God.

"Deb, hold still," Dexter said. He stepped over his sister and zipped her dress up. He then picked up Harrison and stepped back out of the way. "So, if I have to replace a collectible Barbie on eBay, what will this set me back?"

"If it's a Bob Mackey, maybe a couple of hundred," Masuka said.

"What's a Bob Mackey?"

"Bob Mackey. Dude, how can you not know Bob Mackey. He's the guy who designed all those slinky costumes Cher wore back in her variety show days. With all the see-through bits and cut-outs, you know." Masuka made a disturbing _rowr_ -ing noise in the back of his throat.

"I never knew you had a thing for Cher."

"Shit, yes. Sonny and Cher gave hope to short men everywhere."

"You know they got divorced, right?"

"Yeah, yeah. They got divorced. He got killed by a tree. And now their cute little girl is a big-ass dude who could probably kick my butt. The world is a funny place, Morgan."

" _I_ could kick your butt, Masuka," Deb said, and then added triumphantly, "Shoe!"

"If only you would, Morgan," Masuka said, and then he added, "Dress! And it's not a Bob Mackey. Looks more like one of those Barbies of the world. What do you suppose this one is? Thailand? You're lucky it doesn't look damaged. I think these are rarer than the Bob Mackey dresses."

"One more shoe to go," Deb said.

"I'm still not clear on this. The two of you are going undercover as a married couple? Old money from Connecticut? Why the two of you? Why old money? How did the department find this in their budget?"

"All the girls who died were from families who belonged to the same country club, who lived in the McMansions adjacent to the country club, and two of the girls including this last one were actually found on the grounds. Ergo, we want in, we have to pretend to be rich. And it's magically in the department's budget because all of the dead girls were rich with rich families and rich connections. And that's why they are sending Miami's finest," Deb said pointing at herself with both hands.

"A Deb for the debs," Masuka said chuckling at his own joke.

"Or maybe," Dexter suggested, "instead of inherited wealth, Masuka pretends to have made it big in the technology sphere and you could be the girl he always had a crush on in college who married him when he became successful."

"That's racist," Masuka said. "You think I should be a computer geek because I'm Asian."

"You want me to pretend to be a gold digger?" Deb asked. "Way to have some fucking faith in your family, Dexter."

"Yeah, we can be old money from Connecticut," Masuka said.

_No. You really, really can't._

"Just an idea to consider as backup Plan B," Dexter said. "I'm sure you'll do fine."

"Fucking A!" Deb said.

 _I still don't know what that means. Is it good? Is it bad? What does the A stand for? Awesome? Asshole? What?_ "Fucking A," Dexter agreed.

Deb bent over to zip up the suitcase and Masuka made a slightly whimpery sound. Dexter put his hand over Harrison's eyes. He didn't care what the child psychologist said about Harrison's ability to process sensory input. It was reassuring to try and tell himself that Harrison neither saw nor understood what was happening when Trinity murdered his mother, but that was no reason to take the chance that he was now practicing his underdeveloped visual recognition on Aunt Deb's hoo-haw.

"Deb, if you're going to wear a dress that short, do not wear a thong."

Deb straightened up and adjusted the hem on the dress. "You better not have been staring at my ass, Masuka."

"I swear, I was not looking at your ass, Morgan" Masuka said.

"Is he telling the truth?" she asked.

 _Well, it wasn't your **ass** he was looking at._ "I have no idea. I was busy trying blind myself at the time."

"Funny, Dexter. You're a funny guy."

_I'm really not._

"But why are _the two of you_ going undercover?"

"You really think I can't hack this? I went undercover all the time when I worked vice, Dexter. All the fucking time!"

_As crack whores, yes. You're a very convincing crack whore. Also, a little scary._

"Why aren't you going undercover with Quinn? Isn't he your partner?"

Deb shrugged and looked shiftily around. _Oh, no, Deb, not again. When are you going to learn to stop screwing guys you meet at work?_

"I'm officially less skeezy than Detective Quinn," Masuka said. "High five!"

Dexter raised one hand hesitantly and let Masuka high-five him. "So, there's no problem with Quinn?"

"No, why would there be a problem with Quinn?" Deb asked. Her eyes darted guilty back to the other room, like a perp giving away the secret location of his drug station. _You had sex with Quinn in my house, didn't you, Deb?_

"He's taking a couple of vacation days anyway," Masuka said. "Which means, it's down to me to settle into the love shack with Morgan."

Dexter frowned at him.

"Not _you_ -Morgan. The other Morgan. _Hot_ -Morgan."

"If you're going to pretend to be husband and wife, may I suggest that you begin practicing addressing each other by your first names. Deb, meet Vince. Vince, meet Deb."

"This is going to be so fucking weird, Vince," Deb said.

"But fucking weird in a good way, Deb," Masuka said.

"I just came by to pick up some clean clothes," Dexter said. He grabbed a few things out of the bedroom and headed towards the door. "I have to go."

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" Deb asked.

_Well, I still have to dispose of Boyd Fowler's body, convince the nanny to come back to work, and then I need to pick up some lunch for the woman Fowler had locked up in his attic, all while trying to ignore the voice of my dead father in my head telling me that I have to kill her._

"Just somewhere else that's not here where my sister is rifling through the clothes of my murdered wife."

"Oh, fuck me, Dexter! Shit! Shit! Shit! I'm always doing the wrong things! God damn it!"

Dexter sighed. _The only thing worse than an accusatory Deb is a self-flagellating Deb._ "Deb, it's okay. I needed to pack up her things anyway. You're just saving me a step. Masuka, keep the golf clubs. Take whatever books you want. I just have to go."

"We'll keep looking for that other shoe," Masuka said.

"Thanks. And, Vince, if you use this situation to try to take advantage of my sister—" He paused and looked at Deb who was rolling her eyes.

"I can take care of myself," she said.

"What?" Vince asked.

_I should be better at threats than I am. I really should._

"—I'll help her dispose of your mutilated corpse."

_And I'm very good at that._

"Best brother ever," Deb said smiling.

Dexter walked out the door and put Harrison into his car seat.

_It's fitting, I suppose, that when Deb and Masuka went looking for props for their charade as happily-married suburbanites living the American Dream that they would come to pick through the ruins of my own charade. They're wasting their time of course. There's no one left alive who knows what happened to those girls. Oh, they'll put two and two together eventually. Smith will be the only suspect they can't account for and they'll go looking for him. But unless they're looking in the bottom of the ocean, they won't find him. Or the missing golf clubs._

"This simplifies things," Harry said. The ghost of his father was sitting in the passenger seat as large as life.

_I think I liked it better when the voices in my head stayed inside my head._

"With Deb out of the way for a few days, you'll have time to clean up the mess you left at Fowler's," Harry said. "You can't seriously be planning to just pick up a Happy Meal for that girl on the way back there?" Dexter never rebelled when Harry was alive, but the disapproving voice was wearing on his nerves.

"Or maybe weeks," Dexter whispered. "Deb and Vince could be hosting neighborhood dinner parties for weeks."

He shuddered. It really was too awful to think about. He added one more errand to his growing to-do list. He needed to buy a throwaway cell phone so he could call in an anonymous tip on the country club strangler.


End file.
